


Just Fine

by pseudocitrus



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gap Filler, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Mild Blood, Mild Smut, Minor Violence, Post-Tokyo Ghoul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-01 08:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2766407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudocitrus/pseuds/pseudocitrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hinami and Ayato grow closer after the attack on Anteiku.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fangirlingforeverz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlingforeverz/gifts).



> \+ written for a tumblr shipping meme, prompted by fangirlingforeverz: “Dom/top? Sub/bottom? Any switches?”  
> \+ my first ayahina :’D  
> \+ veers from plot canon.  
> \+ hope you like it~

“O — onee-chan? _Onee-chan!”_

Hinami voice breaks. She runs, heart burning in her chest. By the time she catches up, her right knee is bloody from stumbling no less than twice on the pavement, and she’s crying, but not from pain. She throws her arms around Touka, buries her head into her chest, and only then realizes that it something is wrong.

_This isn’t Onee-chan’s smell._

She lets the person go, so frantically that she practically shoves them away from her. They catch their footing, regard her from behind their mask. It’s a rabbit-shaped mask, with the same silhouette as Touka’s. But, now she can see clearly something that she thought before was just a trick of the lighting: the mask is black.

The person fits their hand beneath the mask’s chin and tips it up and over their face. The eyes she sees — and the hair color — are all a match.

But, this person’s expression is entirely different. For one thing, Touka would never look at her with such wariness and suspicion and faint, faint disgust.

Belatedly, Hinami catches the whiff of something familiar, something that makes her blood cold. It’s the smell that haunts Kaneki’s possessions sometimes, the smell that didn’t exist until she saw him with white hair. _And it’s coming from this person._

She trembles. Should she run? Is it too late to run?

 _Please,_ she thinks, _please don’t kill me,_ but before she can open her mouth to say it, a cry and a crash ring out from the direction of Anteiku — from the direction of the battle. Hinami screams and flees — but she doesn’t get further than two steps before she’s grabbed.

“No!” Hinami cries. “No, _no_ , let me go, _let me go, let me_ —”

“Shut _up_!” the ghoul growls at her, shaking her arm until she stops panicking. He tugs off his hooded jacket and drops it onto her shoulders, jamming the hood over her head. “Cover your face! And come on!”

And they flee.

:::

She has nowhere to go.

“Of course you may stay with us, Hinami-chan,” Eto says. “For as long as you like.” She adjusts her glasses, looking Hinami up and down, and a smile unwinds across her face.

“She’s your age,” she remarks, and Ayato scowls.

“Don’t you try setting up anything. We’re not characters in one of your stupid books,” he snaps, and Eto sniffs.

“It’s clear you haven’t read _any_ of my books if you think _that’s_ the sort of setting up I’d do. Anyway, I wasn’t the one who told you to go out of your way to save her. Though I’m very glad that we reached you in time, Hinami-chan.”

"I’m really glad too," Hinami says quietly. "Thank you."

Eto gazes at her, lips pursed, head tilted. She seems to be searching for something, and after a moment, seems to find it; she laughs, delighted.

"Anyway, I don’t think I need to intervene. It seems that things will work out just fine on their own.”

“Sorry,” Hinami murmurs, “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Don’t bother,” Ayato snorts. “Let’s go.”

:::

By the way everyone’s teasing him, you’d think they’d never seen two young people in the same vicinity before.

“Such a cute girl!” Eto says audibly every time Hinami comes by. And then, less audibly: “You should act soon before she decides to make a move on someone else.”

“Shut _up_! Ugh!”

It’s annoying to get hints dropped _all the fucking time_. Especially when it’s not like he’s totally immune to the basic fact that Hinami is pretty cute. Every time she calls out for him — “Ayato-kun?” — Ayato’s brief flush rivals only Eto’s.

(“She calls you ’Ayato-kun’? That is _so cute_! Can I call you that too?”)

(“No! Fuck off!”)

He has so many things to worry about. For one, all the ghouls have been laying low since the destruction of Anteiku, and it’s taking everything he has not to crash one of the Dove bar parties. Communication lines are bad, but this doesn’t stop Hinami from asking him questions about the whereabouts of certain ghouls every day.

“Ayato-kun,” she calls one day, and he whirls on her.

“What?” he demands. “If this is about _that person_ again —“

“Yes! Onee-chan! Did you finally hear from her?!”

It is so _weird_ that she calls Touka that. He must be making a face because Hinami’s smile drops, and she hastily backpedals.

“I — uh — I mean, Touka-chan.”

“No, Hinami, once again, I haven’t heard anything. And honestly,” he tells her, “I don’t really expect to. She’s so weak there’s no way she would have survived that battle if she were a part of it. If I were you, I’d give up hoping for news.”

Hinami has endured all sorts of behavior from him, and other Aogiri members: snaps, teasing, dismissals, barked orders. But now is the first time her eyes light with anger.

“You’re _wrong_ ,” she says in a low voice. “There’s no way. Onee — Touka-chan is really strong. She definitely made it out.”

Fuck, he doesn’t even want to argue with a mentality like that. He got tired of dealing with it years ago, when he abandoned it himself.

“Fine,” he says, with a shrug. “If it makes you happy.”

“What about you, Ayato-kun?” she demands. “It’s clear you don’t have any hope. Does _that_ make you happy?”

He doesn’t even bother to waste his breath answering.

:::

They don’t have many safe houses any more, so Hinami “has to” stay at his place. (Eto declares this with a grin, and Ayato doesn’t give her the satisfaction of hearing his protest.)

It turns out to be not as troublesome an arrangement as he thought it’d be. He’s usually out doing things anyway, and most of the time when he gets home she’s asleep, all bundled up in several blankets on the couch. He always pauses when he glimpses her, and walks quietly not to wake her. She’s the most cheerful ghoul in the place but even he can’t miss the dimness in her eyes sometimes, and it’s only when she’s asleep that she really looks like she’s at peace.

One night he’s startled when he finds his hand brushing her hair behind her ear. He’s even more startled when he feels something stir in the bit of his belly, and unsettled when it grows with every day that passes, every small smile she puts in his direction, every little _”Ayato-kun!”_

It’s getting to the point where the places that he stares off to in idle moments start to fill with images of her smooth neck. The length of soft calf that is sometimes exposed beneath her blankets when he comes home. The fingers that are so gently curled when she sleeps.

One time he comes home a little earlier than usual, hoping, for some reason, that she’ll be awake. She is, and he regrets it immediately, because at the sight of him she jumps and swipes at her eyes.

“A-Ayato-kun,” she sniffs. “W-welcome home.”

 _Welcome home._ When was the last time someone told him that? The effect would probably be more touching if her eyes weren’t so red.

“What happened?” he asks, and she shakes her head vehemently.

“I-It’s — it’s nothing, sorry, I just…I’m sorry. P-please don’t worry about me.”

Like hell he won’t, especially when she looks like that. He rummages around for a tissue box, then gives up and rips off a couple squares of toilet paper for her to blow her nose on. When he nears her again, he hesitates — she’s wearing one of his shirts — and the thought, suddenly, that his skin has been somewhere that her skin now is, is both weird and disturbingly intriguing. She ends up taking the napkin from his stalled hand and dabbing her eyes and blowing her nose.

“Thanks, Ayato-kun,” she murmurs. “That’s really nice of you.”

She balls the napkin up and puts it on a table. Then she clutches the blankets against her breasts — no, not even against them, _beneath_ them, and they are pushed up. He can just see the line of her cleavage in the collar of his too-large shirt. His throat is dry. Is she even wearing a bra?

Too late, he realizes that she is silent, and staring at him, and he has no idea how much time has passed.

“Um,” he says, “what? Huh?”

And then, “Oh, right — right — y-yeah. Sure. You’re welcome.”

And then, “You said thanks, right? For the — uh — napkin?”

She’s watching him carefully. Oh, fuck, she _definitely_ noticed him staring at her boobs. He probably should avoid looking at her for the rest of the night. He stands and flees — but he doesn’t get further than two steps before he’s grabbed.

“W-wait, Ayato-kun,” she says. Her voice breaks a little and she clears her throat, shakes her head. “Um. Do you want to do it?”

He stares.

“You know,” she says, when he doesn’t answer. She searches her brain for another way to put it. Finally, she manages: “Um…sex…?”

“What?”

:::

 _”What?”_ Ayato repeats when she grabs his other hand, gently, and opens it so his palm presses against hers. Hinami eyes him somberly. Her body is still a little trembly with her tears, with the exhaustion of waiting and worrying and fighting off images of Touka and Kaneki dismembered and stuffed in to suitcases and used to kill all her other friends.

Her body is also trembly with something else, and though she’s never really experienced it before herself, she knows exactly what it is. Goodness knows she’s spent enough nights blushing into her pillow whenever Kaneki visits. The walls are too thin and sometimes they’re at it without even realizing she’s present, and within earshot. And eyeshot. And noseshot.

She pulls him onto the couch with her and for all that Ayato is supposed to be so strong he flops over easily, turning first pale and then bright red. Despite herself, she laughs a little. He’s really just as pretty as Touka. It’s been a little hard to ignore.

Her heart hurts so much. Does it really feel so good that she can forget her pain for a while? She’s just so tired of crying all the time. Of crying herself to sleep, alone. Of being so _helpless_.

Hinami kicks herself out of the blankets, crawls, positions himself over his body, the way she’s seen before. She’s still holding his hands, and her weight keeps him down, but he doesn’t fight her; mostly he still seems shocked. He doesn’t protest at all when she bends down and presses her lips against his, clumsily at first, and then with a confidence not backed by any experience at all other than peeking shyly around the corner at his sister. She feels his breath move fast, shallow, in and out the corners where their mouths meet, and she presses a little harder, until his breath has nowhere to go but to her. This is kind of weird, a little wetter and messier than she expected. She closes her eyes and tries to _feel_ it better in case she’s just not feeling it just yet.

He opens his mouth and a sound is smothered against her tongue and teeth, and then his mouth moves a different way, like maybe he is finally kissing her back. She lifts her head a little to catch her breath, but he leans up to follow her, and impulsively her grip on him tightens, keeps him down. He bites back a quiet curse, and then a loud one when she drops her weight onto him.

“ _Ow_!”

“Oh — sorry — did that hurt?” She raises herself up quickly.

“Yeah,” he snaps.

“A — a little,” he amends in a mumble.

She tries again, settling more gently onto him, hips grazing back and forth as she lowers herself down again. This time she feels the muscles of his wrist flex against her as his fists open and shut, can feel the little spasms of his body when hers rests along the length of it. Her head is aligned perfectly with his throat, where the special Ayato smell of him is strongest, where it overpowers the Aogiri Tree smell, and the lingering scents of whatever battle he’s most recently been in. She nuzzles in and inhales and feels goosebumps rise against her nose.

 _Still_ _missing something_ , she thinks, and finally she pulls his hands down and move them up and into her shirt.

“ _What_ ,” Ayato says, in a voice that sounds perilously like a squeak, and she massages his hands open with her thumbs and presses them each against a breast, gasping first at how foreign and chilly they are, and then how unusually, weirdly pleasant they feel as they begin to hesitantly stroke.

“Yeah,” she encourages in a whisper, “like that, I think. Um, maybe you can…”

She swallows, too embarrassed to say it, but she rests her hand on his hair and he gets it immediately. He pushes up her shirt up to her sternum and her hand tightens in his hair, guiding his mouth to her nipple, clenching when his tongue smothers it with heat and slick softness.

 _That_ does it. This time Hinami is the one that squeaks, and soon she feels breathless, and feels her back arching, and feels her heart soaring, and feels Ayato growing hard and straining in his pants, and she fumbles to undo the zipper.

:::

The next morning they need to visit Eto’s place to restock on food. They don’t say a word, and Eto doesn’t suspect anything until she hands Ayato the package, and he mumbles, “Thanks.”

Eto blinks. Turns toward him in shock. She whisks her glasses off to clean them and then jams them onto her face again, looks back and forth between Hinami and Ayato. The former looks back, tips her chin up a bit; the latter glances away.

“What?” he demands, staring at her doormat.

“Nothing,” Eto says, smiling and giving Hinami a wink. “Go on, run along.”

Things worked out just fine on their own, just as she expected.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hinami needs to hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ written for a couple prompts on Tumblr. the first is: “Who’s loud? Who’s quiet? Does one try to make the other louder/quieter? How?” the second is: “SNUGGLE.” …anyway, this incorporates both!

 

The morning after they first...uh, yeah…Ayato wakes up all tangled up with her on the couch, late for a meeting. He curses and extricates himself and is out the door before either of them even say goodbye.

By the time he gets home, Hinami’s asleep again, hand draped beyond her blanket. There’s a book beneath her hand, fallen open on the floor, and he picks it up. He stands over her, hesitating. Then he sets the book down on the arm of the couch, and goes to bed.

:::

Hinami seems content to stay in the apartment all day, reading books. It is, frankly, weird. But whatever.

“We’re out of food,” she says one day, quietly.

“Yeah?” He usually eats when he’s out, and it’s been a while since he’s seen the inside of the apartment’s tiny fridge, so he’s not surprised. “Go get some more, then.”

Hinami wrings her wrists. “Will you go with me, Ayato-kun?”

“Wh...why?! I just got back home. You know where to go.”

She looks down. “I’m scared.”

Ayato stares. She can be pretty shy, sure, and she panicked during the raid and probably would have died or been converted into a suitcase if he hadn’t pulled her out. But _“I’m scared”_ doesn’t really match up with the personality of someone that’d just up and — you know — to him.

“Don’t pull that shit,” he scoffs. “You can do it.”

Hinami bites her lip. Then nods.

“Okay.”

:::

He always gets home late, and she always seems to be sleeping when he does. Most of the time Ayato just trudges to bed and drifts off immediately, exhausted.

But sometimes there are nights when he can’t sleep. When he stares at the ceiling, thinking, seething. About lost friends and fathers and sisters, about Doves prancing in the daylight while he and everyone else have to slink around in the dark, ashamed of their own existence.

During those times, it only takes about ten minutes until he hears the floor creak. The keen of his door on his hinge. The soft pad of footsteps. And then the rustle as Hinami climbs, very carefully, into bed with him.

He slows his breathing down, makes it as steady as possible, and though she pushes a hand into his crooked arm, though she pushes her forehead against his shoulder, he’s sure that she can’t tell he’s awake.

It’s uncomfortable — for just a minute. Once she’s there, his heads gets heavy, fast. Fills with drowsy memories of when he only ever slept with his sister’s weight beside him. He shifts a little, and moves his arm over her arm, or her side, or sometimes her head, inconspicuous, so close his curled fingers only just brush her. He’s asleep before he knows it.

He wakes up before he knows it, too. Alone.

:::

Hinami doesn’t leave that night to grab food, but Ayato assumes she does the next day, and that’s why he doesn’t bother hunting. He opens the fridge and yells when he finds it empty.

“I thought you went to get food!” he shouts, looking back at her. “Did you eat it all already?”

She holds her book to her chest. “I’ll go tomorrow,” she says.

“What was wrong with today?!”

“Nothing! I just...think tomorrow is better.”

Ugh.

_Ugghhh._

“Fine,” he says, “fine. I’ll go with you. Come on, hurry up, let’s go.”

They go that day, and thereafter every other week, to pick up food from Eto. Then, one week, Eto is empty-handed.

“What?” Hinami says.

“The Dove patrols are finally starting to slacken!” Eto explains. “You’ll still need to be careful, but now you’ll be able to hunt for yourself.”

Eto says it like it’s a relief. Hinami says, “Oh, I see,” and Eto tilts her head.

“Is something the matter, Hinami-chan?”

“No,” Hinami says, “nothing,” but Eto is already turning to Ayato.

“Maybe you should help her out.”

“What? Why!”

“Come on, Ayato-kun!” Eto says, in a sing-song. “Have a little kindness.”

“Oh, how? By babying her?” Ayato demands. But Eto has already closed the door on him.

On the way down the stairs, Hinami tugs the hood of Ayato’s jacket until he turns around toward her. Her eyes are wide. 

“I can’t do it,” she whispers.

“What? What are you talking about? Is this still about hunting?”

“Y-yes. I’ve never to — to hunt. I always...at Anteiku…”

“Well, now’s your chance,” he tells her, continuing down. “It’s not hard, just annoying. Humans don’t really stand a chance, you just need to watch out for Doves.”

She doesn’t answer. When he looks back, and up at her, she’s pale. Paler than the night he first saw her, fleeing the wreckage and blood.

“You’re a ghoul!” he snaps. “You have like two types of kagune, for crying out loud! Follow your instincts. You can do it.”

She sways.

“You really think so?”

“Are you joking? Are you even listening to me?!”

She nibbles her lip. Then nods.

“Okay. Yeah. I can do it.”

:::

Twice that week, when he’s awake enough to hear her come to his bed, it’s not the floorboards or footsteps that cue him. It’s her growling stomach.

:::

Ayato tails her.

She’s easy to spot — for him, anyway. She’s too hesitant when she walks, too suspicious. It’s a fairly warm evening but she’s wearing layers and a hood that drapes over her brows.

Here’s something else that’s obvious: she has no idea what to do. Aimlessly, Hinami follows lone stragglers down dark alleys, and allows them to escape unscathed. One time he actually spots one of them turning and asking for her number, and she runs like _she’s_ the one being hunted.

He snorts. Well, everyone has to find their own way to make it. It’s not like he’s her big sister or anything. He turns away.

Later, Ayato winces. His lip is bleeding, from biting it all day.

:::

For the first time, he comes home and she isn’t there.

He almost walks back out to check that he’s in the right apartment.

“Hello?” Ayato calls. But no answer comes. The lump in the couch blankets is just a lump. The books, too, are all in neat columns against the wall.

It’s already night. Where the fuck is she? He flings the food he got into the fridge, and waits.

He wakes up to the sound of the bed creaking, and almost flips out. His kagune spark; he lunges at the intruder, and grips only familiar skin. Familiar, whole skin. It takes only a couple more brisk pats to determine Hinami is, in fact, in one piece.

“Sh-shit,” he hisses, “ _where —?”_

_Where the hell were you,_ he is going to ask, but a mouth, smashed into his, cuts him off. Her tongue flicks against him, warm and wet, and alongside her own flavor he tastes something else: a tang, a sweetness.

Good, she found the food in the fridge.

Something’s off, though. Her hands are fumbling at his blankets, yanking them messily aside, and the hands she slides up beneath his shirt and onto his belly are trembling.

And freezing. He yelps against her mouth and snatches her hands instinctively.

“S-sorry,” she whispers. Her eyes are glassy. Her whole body is shaking, he realizes, and her eyes are ghoul-black. He swallows. It doesn’t take an idiot to tell that she's still hungry, and not in the “I’m-starving” way.

She stares at him, and he looks away, lips pursed, heat rising to his face. He rubs her hands vigorously in his, exhales onto them, and after they’re a little warmer he places them back on his body, somewhat lower than they were before.

She doesn’t need any further encouragement. She pushes her body against him, and he can’t help a decidedly uncool groan. Her eyes widen and she covers her mouth, failing to suppress a giggle.

“S-stop!” he stammers, mortified. “Don’t laugh!”

She lifts her hand away. She isn’t giggling now, but her grin is wide and ridiculous.

“It’s okay, Ayato-kun,” she whispers. “I — I really like it.”

“Y-you _what_?!” He stares at her, not sure if he’s red or if he’s pale. “You weir — _haahh_ —!”

His voice cracks with a well-timed (and well-positioned) grip of her fingers. His whole body tremors. He slaps his hand over his mouth, which ends up shielding it effectively from further kisses; but she isn’t dissuaded. Her forehead nuzzles up beneath his chin, and the suckle and warmth and softness of her lips making their way from throat to collarbone makes him dizzy.

She feels so nice. She feels so — so _good_. His hands twitch, helpless. His chest surges, his heart balloons, and he thinks, _She’s so pretty, she’s so, so pretty_ ; and, _Stop, stop, don’t, don’t — what if she’s too weak after all?_

Oh, wait — wait — she’s saying something to him. No, she’s _repeating_ something to him, has been repeating it for the past forever. Her voice is a feathery murmur.

“You like it too, right?” Her eyes are glinting mischievously, hands drumming lightly on his belly. “Right?”

He glares her over his white knuckles, then smacks his hand down on the bed. “Like I’d ever —”

And then his voice breaks again, with a moan, as she kisses beneath his navel, and further.

:::

Days later, when Ayato opens up the fridge to replenish it for her, he’s startled to find something already in it.

He lifts it up, turns it in his hands. It’s the food that he got for her, before. 

It’s completely untouched.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hinami and Ayato go on a mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ i’m hideously sick today so have a fic! ヽ(；▽；)ノ  
> \+ prompted by an anon on tumblr: "Would love to see Hinami exhibiting strength, in a way that surprises Ayato x)"  
> \+ CW for this chapter: blood, violence

Recently, whenever he comes home, Hinami’s nose wrinkles. Finally, after a particularly long day, he snaps at her.

“Quit already! I’m going to take a bath, alright?”

Hinami starts.

“It’s — it’s not that — it’s just —” Her eyes close as she takes another breath. “You’ve been hunting the same people again?”

 _”Person._ A Dove. I keep losing him. Which I’m getting really fucking sick of, by the way.”

“I want to come along,” she says, the next day, at HQ, during his meeting with Eto. Both Eto and Ayato look at her, eyes wide.

“Where did you come from?” Ayato asks. And, “You’re just mentioning this _now_?”

“Hinami-chan,” Eto says slowly, with a faint smile, “I don’t think that’s the best —”

“I can,” she says, firmly. “You know Kaneki-san, right?”

At the sound of the name, Ayato flinches. But Hinami continues on, only looking at Eto. “I was with him, I was with him when he was getting stronger, when he had those missions. Something like this is nothing compared to those.”

 _“Nothing?”_ Ayato scoffs.

“I want to,” Hinami says, ignoring him. “Let me.”

“Hmm,” Eto says. She turns to Ayato. “What do you think?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ayato demands. “She should come if she wants.”

Eto’s brows lift. “Really.”

Ayato shrugs. “As long as she knows that if she’s not strong enough, she’s going to die.”

Eto puckered her lips. “So cold, Ayato-kun! Well, there you have it, Hinami-chan. Go if you want, but please take care.”

“I will. Thank you very much,” she says. She bows deeply, then turns and dashes after Ayato to catch up.

:::

He gives Hinami a loose description of the target, and is pleasantly surprised when it turns out that she moves well enough that she doesn’t slow him down at all. She lags behind a bit at first, but soon keeps pace, eyes scanning, or else closing as she takes a deep breath.

“That way,” she says, pointing at a wharf, and he stares at her.

“Really?” The bastard’s been hard to track down; he hadn’t expected to find him so easily today. His pulse picks up.

“Yeah. I have a good sense of smell. But — Ayato-kun!” she shouts as he races off. “ _Ayato-kun! Wait!”_

He ignores her. Touka was always going on about how careful he should be when he was hunting, and he isn’t about to sit for that sort of prattling now.

 _There_ — just as Hinami said. The Dove, the murderer, inspecting some shipping crates. Ayato doesn’t hesitate. His kagune flare, and he sinks splinters into the Dove’s left side, from calf to shoulder. The Dove yells in agony and reaches for his suitcase, fumbling with clasps already slippery with blood.

This is it. Finally. Ayato lands, grinning, preparing another volley — and is whacked across the back of his head. He screams in shock and pain as he crashes against a shipping crate, but recovers, leaping to his feet. There’s another Dove here.

“Got you,” says the new Dove. He’s already got a quincke out, something that looks awfully like a koukaku.

Ayato spits blood, scowls. He can handle this. _For you, Aneki,_ he thinks, and charges, with a spray of kagune pins. The Dove doesn’t bother dodging, just takes it with a cringe and sweeps the quincke around, catching and constricting his leg with spikes that wrap around his flesh, digging their spikes in deep. Ayato gasps in pain as he is lifted and whipped against the pier. The moment he frees himself he is crushed down again, this time by the other Dove’s quincke. Ayato’s kagune spit and flare monstrously, and to his shock he realizes he just barely has enough cells left to escape.

 _Fuck,_ he thinks, blearily, how did this happen, how did this happen so quickly, the salt water is choppy and lapping over the wood, dark with his blood, sharp with salt, his pulse cools and then chills. This can’t possibly be the way it ends. It can’t possibly end like this, after everything, after all that’a happened, after all…

A distant shout shakes him out of the encroaching dark. “H- _hey_!”

“ _No_ ,” Ayato gasps, but it’s too late. The Doves have turned, to Hinami, who is standing, shoulders bunched, out in the open. In a swoop, her koukaku kagune unfurl, voluminous, shielding, and she yells but holds firm against the hammer of the first Dove’s kagune. She steps forward, forward, shrouded, impervious.

The Doves hesitate. Ayato cries out as the whip tightens around his body.

“Don’t come closer,” one warns, “or I’ll kill it.”

Hinami stops. She doesn’t move. The Doves relax, and that’s when her rinkaku kagune emerge and run them both straight through.

The Doves fall. Without missing a beat, both her rinkaku kagune snap back, and without looking Hinami jams their clenched points into the shadows of another shipping crate nearby — eliciting a moan there, a stagger, a fresh burst of blood from yet another Dove waiting in the wings. The third Dove’s quincke clatters to the ground.

Hinami’s kagune wither, and she breaks into a run, wraps her arms around Ayato, yanks him bleeding to his feet.

“Ayato-kun,” she cries, “Ayato-kun, please hang in there, please, _please_ ,” and even after he’s up, even after an eternity of running, even when he feels darkness and cold claim him, he hears her sobbing.

:::

They don’t make it far. It surprises her that they make it as far as they do, honestly, especially given the rain, which has started to fall and makes the ground so slippery that Ayato trips up more than once. It’s adrenaline, she guesses, that gives her the strength to half-carry him to the nearest shelter she can find: one of the empty boats tied up to the wharf. She steels herself, and stabs through a window with her kagune so she can reach in, unlock the door, and push them both inside.

The boat’s interior is like a studio apartment. It’s warm and furnished — thank goodness, thank goodness. Hinami maneuvers Ayato, fully unconscious now, to a futon bed; then kneels over him. She knows what Touka and Kaneki did, to save themselves in their fight against Tsukiyama — and even though Kaneki is half-human, it should work the same way here, right?

“Ayato-kun,” she says urgently, “Ayato-kun, wake up.”

When he doesn’t, she raps her hand against his cheek — hesitantly at first, then hard. His eyes snap open, roll around. She presses her wrist to his mumbling mouth.

“Bite it,” she tells him, “hurry,” and when he doesn’t, dread rolls over her, dense and sickening. She raises her wrist to her own mouth, and before fear can stop her, she bites down, hard. Tears spring into her eyes at the pain; she whimpers, through a flow of blood. But this time, when she presses her wrist to Ayato’s mouth, his nostrils flare, and his mouth works, drinking her heavily in.

“That’s it,” she whispers, “good — good, Ayato-kun, keep going,” and even though it hurts, there’s a weirdly pleasant quality to it too, of his tongue laving her skin, of his hands gripping her.

When her wound heals up, Ayato slumps back, and this time she lets him. His breath is deep now, and even, and it looks like he’s stopped bleeding. She wants to cry again, this time from relief, but she doesn’t. This isn’t the time, this isn’t the time.

Swallowing her terror, she departs the boat, head swiveling wildly to scent and hear anything she can. At the scene of the battle, all three Doves and their suitcases and any traces of blood are totally gone.

 _I didn’t kill them,_ she thinks with wild relief.

 _They’re alive,_ she thinks with horror.

Hinami sneaks back, as carefully as possible, making sure she isn’t followed. The rain is getting dense and splatters through the broken window of the boat, so she stuffs towels into the hole to keep the water and the wind out. She’s soaked through; she strips off her clothing and spreads it out on the curtain rod. After some hesitation, she does the same for Ayato, removing his bloody clothing piece by piece while he groans sleepily. She dries him off and dresses them both in big shirts and sweatpants she finds in a dresser.

Afterward, she lies on the bed with him, burying them both beneath all the blankets and towels she can find. Lying there, everything — the keen of the storm shoving the pier and the boat, their rough breath, her still-drumming pulse — feels frighteningly loud. But soon the exhaustion gets to her, or maybe it’s the rocking of the boat, or maybe Ayato’s calm heat beside her. Either way, she falls asleep.

:::

Her sleep is fitful, riddled with screaming faces, and the bed is empty when she wakes up.

Hinami panics — straightens so fast her back releases a cracking noise — there’s someone standing up, someone in the boat’s kitchen — her vision reels, blackens. The person turns towards her.

“It’s me,” Ayato says.

“O-oh,” Hinami says breathlessly. She rubs her eyes, which are stinging with fatigue. She slumps back onto the blankets.

Silence.

He clears his throat. “Do you want some water?”

Silence.

“Sure,” she decides. Ayato walks to the bed and sits down on the edges of it, then hands her a plastic bottle of water, the contents of which is refreshingly cool in her throat. When she’s done drinking, he takes another couple gulps himself, then sets the bottle down on the floor.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Good.”

She frowns at him. He’s still quite pale, and his voice is hoarse. He rolls his eyes.

“Well, I’m better, anyway.”

Hinami nibbles her lip. “We should get going,” she mutters.

He doesn’t answer. She looks up at him, and sees that he’s giving her a strange look.

“They might come searching for us here at any time,” she explains, and he nods.

“Yeah.”

“Can you make it?”

“Yeah.”

She’s sure it can’t be easy for him to travel right now, but if he says he can do it, she trusts him. Hinami changes back into her previous clothes, but it’s too late for any of his; they are too blood-stained, and she refuses to let him take them back, despite his mutter that there’s no way the CCG has anyone with as good a sense of smell as her. His clothing, and any bloody items in the room, are dumped into the roaring waves at the end of the pier. Hinami leads the way home, listening hard through the rain and through her exhaustion, stomach churning with anxiety that doesn’t fade until they finally make it back to the apartment.

“We’re home,” she cries with relief.

“Welcome home,” Ayato says quietly. Hinami looks at him with surprise, and delight, and then hugs him, right there in the entryway, burying her head in his chest. She only means to do it briefly, but to her surprise, Ayato’s arms wrap around her as well, one after the other, loose, then firm. His mouth presses down against her brow.

“Did you know?” he murmurs.

Ayato has never acted this gently. It takes her a while to process what he’s said.

“Uh…uh, know what?”

“That there were three Doves. You knew, didn’t you? You could smell all of them on me.”

“Yeah,” Hinami replies. “I could.”

Silence.

“You could have told me,” he grumbles.

“I did! Or I _tried_! I came with you because I wanted to be completely sure. But you didn’t listen.” She frees herself from his grip. “You’re too obsessed with revenge.”

She walks back to her couch. He follows. Hovers. She senses that he’s trying to tell her something, and she even has a good guess of what it is — but instead of saying it, he murmurs, “You could have let me die.”

“No,” she says, and is startled to hear irritation in her voice. “I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t.”

He sits on the couch. His hand rises, and falls onto the blankets. It inches towards her leg, and then rests there, fingers curving around her calf. She feels the heat of his palm, the slight tremble of it, even through her clothing.

“You should rest,” she tells him. He looks down. His other hand rests, on her other leg, this time just above her knee. Despite herself, despite her exhaustion, her pulse picks up. He says something, too quietly for her to hear.

“What?” she says, and his face turns redder.

“I said, I want to — to do something for you,” he says, more loudly, and Hinami swallows. Her throat is dry. Somehow, her heart races even faster.

“Okay,” she says, and his hands run up her legs, to the hem of her pants. He kneels between her knees, pulls her pants and underwear down and off in one go, and places his bare hands on the goosebumps rising across her thighs and belly. He tugs her toward him and lowers his mouth between her legs. He lays one kiss there, and then another, and then parts her lips with his thumbs and eases his tongue against her, broad and soft and wet. Her body jerks — she gasps, whines — her hands clutch the blankets, and then his hair, positioning him lower, deeper. He obliges, the grip of her fingers guiding him into a rhythm that is slow, but relentlessly even. She arches and bows beneath him, legs scissoring, and his hands move to her waist, cradling, holding, bringing her closer, closer, until her whole body seizes, soundless and strong.

She’s still reeling, fingers twitching with aftershocks, when he withdraws himself from her, licking his lips. He slips her underwear back on and she watches, trying to keep her eyes open, trying to make room as he pushes himself underneath the blankets with her. The couch is too small for them to fit in any other position but _very close together_ , her back to his chest, her head just underneath his. His arms cross over her belly and it is so comfortable, so comfortable.

“You’re welcome,” Hinami mumbles, and drifts off.

This time, there are no nightmares.


End file.
